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Chapter 1
CHAPTER 1, ACT I Cpl. Sydney Kruger Death Valley, California 3 April 2051 What is war? I have been wondering about that since I was a wee little thing. I know that greed has a lot to do with war. I have always heard about war on the news, learned war’s role in countries’ histories, being told to avoid war, then being told to war on. Many people refuse to accept the fact that many countless nations have been formed through war. My father himself was participating in the “game” of war. What part of man’s mind is war? What early genus of man created the concept of war? Well, the female mind can look at it negatively. (Would it be a woman’s idea? Of course not…) It kills brave, faithful people—by the thousands (sometimes in very sick, dogmatic ways)—just over relatively simple political dilemmas that could be resolved instead with…. um… oh, what? Then again, I wouldn’t be brilliant enough to come up with something marvelous to replace the problem-ending, sheer efficiency and “potency” of war. Now I am involved in war. How? I enlisted in the Union of Prosperity’s MTB (Multi-Terrain Battalion). Reason why? One, I needed something new to try out—I am not your average girl—I don’t have many fears. Two, they were running short on troops so I signed up. It fits me, although it does not sound right. What, like there’s something wrong about some silly tomboy-ish twenty year old girl enlisting in military at the height world tension? Ah, I remember my first day at training. It was nothing like I thought; except the fancy tech they utilized. They told us all the parts of the weapons, gave physical training, told us the creed and intention of the UOP, the current war we were in, et cetera. Even these military jargon vocabulary lessons were given. I needed money for college and the world is in trouble. So why wouldn’t I? Well, I have experienced a LOT of things since my recruitment. Maybe more than I needed. ** An alarm cuts the start of April 4th short. “What the hell?” I ask myself. I look around. Nobody else is around. Not even my android, Quincy. I looked outside through a window above my head, in my sleepwear. Outside there was orange-yellow smoke everywhere accompanied by the dark morning sky, but not a single person. I felt the window—it’s hot. Usually it does not conduct any heat… Quickly, I run to the equipment lockers. I slipped into my armored uniform and took the only three grenades. There was only half as usual ammo for my HT6C assault rifle. I begin a search. Out the locker room, there is one hall leading to the cafeteria/meeting room. Along the left and right of the hall, there are two doors. Both are utility rooms. Walking towards the left, I think what could happen. I am fighting in a war, possibly the third world war, over a meteor in the Pacific ocean that landed twenty/thirty-some years ago. It created large tsunamis that tore apart much of coastal civilization around the Pacific. Hawaii was history. So, US exploration teams crack it open and find funny new minerals that could be reproduced synthetically, which lead to this tech advancement movement. But this cut all oil business between the US and Iran. President Jabul Al-Matalla of Iran offers Axtell Supercorporation, a large we-make-everything business (the supplier of the Union Of Prosperity) about $2.5 billion for some share. We saw evil in Al-Matalla’s plan and denied it. He had his own UOP (Union of Prosperity) equivalent in the Middle East, under the name of the Equalized Nations Association (ENA). They have stolen Axtell manufacturing supplies and started making things of their own, except in larger amounts. And, who knows what they will do with it? That is probably the major concern of UOP, therefore war is born. Capitalism is a love story, right? Now, back to the door: I raise my left leg and give the door a swift, heel kick. The old door flies open with a squeal. There was a flickering light above me. I turn on the flashlight under my Tx8. One step forward that I take and mice immediately run away. “Those little guys must have found something to eat.” I hear my voice echo. The place reeks with the odor of something dead. The flashlight’s projected circle of light reveals a human corpse wearing a custodian’s uniform. It has an opened torso, organs damaged, and an oversized, bipedal cockroach was feeding on it. I jumped at the sight of it. Apparently we scared each other equally. “Ick! What the hell?” I belatedly yell. I take one more step and discover that the floor is mostly stained with blood. Mostly human blood. I grip my handgun tighter. A dead end lies ahead, lined with power domains and fuseboxes. I run out of the room and onto the hallway I came from. Next to the utility room was the cafeteria/meeting hall. I see a table with more splats of blood on it. They are arranged in a trail… The trail leads me to a trash can with a two-foot tall rat standing in front of it, digging through the trash. Is there a mutated animal outbreak somewhere here? Next to it is what appears to be a small chunk of meat it chewed on. It turns to us and hisses. Its glaring red eyes, standing out from its gray coat of fur, grow wide as if they are yelling to me, “Back off.” I linger for about two seconds, staring at it with my handgun aimed at its head. It bears its teeth, and hisses louder. I wait one more second with no fear, rather, focus. It lunges towards me with its hideous, bloodstained claws. I pull the trigger. A smoldering bullet lands somewhere along its forehead. The hole the bullet bore is followed by a small gush of blood. A puddle accumulates. “Jesus! No wonder why everyone is gone!” I exhale. I jump over the body and run to the kitchen door. Kicked that one too. The long, rectangular kitchen is empty, aside more smatterings of blood. I walk to the end to find an audio diary someone left, on the countertop. Below it is a beacon on a tripod. I press play on its touchscreen. It plays static for a few seconds, then a voice becomes audible. It’s Sgt. Fred’s voice. He starts, “Syd, if you get this, you’re not alone. We are going to leave and head to a base in Oregon. The place is infested with BTAs—I’ll tell you what those are later! Place your beacon on spot and we’ll find you and all will be fine. I know you are panicking, but ple-“ A hiss then follows, then a gunshot and a crack. “Please remain position and stand ground. Out!” he finishes. The last few seconds are static again. I shove the audio diary and the beacon into my backpack. I exit the kitchen and run out the meeting room’s doors to the ramp/stairs and kick the hatch open, leading me outside. The Tx8 goes back to its holster and my HT6C is back in my hands. “Where to start?” I ask myself. I walk off. I have searched up a hill, through the light sandstorm. I unfold the beacon’s tripod and mount it. As only seconds pass, I hear distant footsteps. I turn around 180 degrees. There is nothing clearly visible, although a camouflaged figure crouched. I just stand and squint my eyes. Is it a UOP recon troop? Whoever he is, he sends a bullet that strikes the beacon with dozens of sparks. I recoil from it. Sniper! He starts running, further away, into the sandstorm.